


B.Y.O.B.

by JennTheMastermind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Birthday Party, Drinking, Even more obscene yet vague birthday presents, F/F, F/M, I don't even know what Raven got, LOTS of booze, Linctavia - Freeform, Lots of drinking, M/M, Memori - Freeform, Modern AU, Murphy's Birthday, Obscene Gift Wrap, its a ridiculous amount of Booze tbh, minty, wicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:06:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennTheMastermind/pseuds/JennTheMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Squad plans and sets up Murphy's twenty first birthday party, everyone questions the obscene gifts and wrapping paper and brings their own booze. A lot of booze.<br/>Later, when a ridiculous amount has been consumed and the party has quieted, Clarke has a conversation with Bellamy. With the confession he makes, Clarke is convinced he's a drunk eight-year-old boy.<br/>The next morning, Clarke and Bellamy hear of just how much booze they went through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vague Obscenities and Party Planning

“We’re back, bitches!” Octavia shouted, raising her hands overhead with two six-packs of Seagram’s wine coolers. Lincoln and Wells were behind her, struggling with a keg of beer Clarke assumed was heavier than it looked.

Clarke was sitting at the round table shoved to the corner of the kitchen, a roll of the most obscene gift wrap Jasper could find on the internet and a few birthday gifts beside her. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure what weird sex shop Raven found her gift for Murphy. She didn’t want to know. She reserved the term “obscene” for the wrapping paper, but she didn’t even know what to call Raven’s gift.

“Octavia, you’ve literally been gone for twenty minutes,” Monty quipped. He was standing on a stool and pinning up a sign above the apartment window. 

Miller was below him holding the unpinned part of the six-foot-long sign and a container of tacks. He was smiling absently up at Monty, not too fazed by Octavia’s dramatic entrance.

“Oh, come on,” Octavia scoffed, opening the fridge with her sandaled foot and storing the liquor away.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough Seagram’s,” Miller turned to her dismally. “Raven and Clarke will make those disappear in the first half hour.”

“Hey,” Clarke pointed her scissors warningly at him, “don’t make me tell them the Peppermint Schnapps story from last Christmas.”

“Is that blackmail?” Miller looked at her incredulously.

Clarke raised an eyebrow and returned to her wrapping.

“Or should I tell them the cross-faded story with a fifth of Jack?” Wells contributed to Clarke’s threat. The two shared a sly smirk as Miller froze.

“You said you would never mention that,” Miller whispered to him. 

Wells just laughed. Monty pinned the last corner of the sign to the wall. When he got off the stool to survey, Clarke looked at it, too.

She’d made it over the course of the week, using it as a productive outlet in her downtime from studying for finals. She smirked reading it: “Happy 21st Birthday Trash-King Murphy!”

The whole group had been through hell this semester at Ark University; a mess of problems with families, each other, classes, and more than one death of a friend. Murphy’s birthday was the Saturday of finals week – today – and signified the end of the school year. It was a cause for them all to celebrate, let go of their troubles, and enjoy that they’d made it through hell alive and together.

“Hey!” Jasper drew out in a yell as he burst through the door. In a similar fashion to Octavia, he had a thirty pack of beer with him and Maya behind him. 

Clarke smiled at the girl who gave an excited wave back. Maya had another six-pack of Seagram’s with her. Clarke thought of Raven and just how true Miller’s comment had been.

Jasper and Monty exchanged their signature high five as Octavia and Maya shared a quick hug. Lincoln and Wells had managed to lift the keg up onto the kitchen counter; out of the way but accessible.

Maya looked at the sign and laughed. Clarke knew she wasn’t close with Murphy, but she was friends enough with him to enjoy the well-intentioned insult. 

“Whose gunna be here and when are they gunna be here?” Jasper turned to Octavia and asked, clapping his hands together and jumping a bit in excitement. He paused and added, “Also how the hell did you get Murphy out of his apartment for this long to set up the surprise party?”

“Emori is keeping him out and busy,” Octavia began to answer, their party-planning leader, “which really isn’t too hard, apparently. She text me earlier saying she can keep him away as long as we need.”

There were numerous male hollers that echoed through the apartment and Clarke didn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. She did both. 

Murphy and Emori had been dating happily for two years now. They’d experienced some personal turmoil in their relationship because of the stress from the semester, but Emori had assured Clarke recently they’d resolved their issue together.

“The guest list,” Octavia continued, standing in the middle of the apartment and lifting her hands for silence, “is basically our normal crowd: Raven, Wick, Harper, Monroe, Lexa, Costia, and Bellamy.”

Monty whistled. Jasper turned to Clarke, concerned, and asked, “Lexa is coming with Costia? Are you girls okay now?”  
Clarke gave him a sincere smile and eventually nodded. 

Lexa had transferred from Grounder University to Ark in the Fall semester. Clarke had immediately found herself friends with her. And even quicker than they’d become friends, Clarke discovered she meant more to Lexa – and Lexa to her. 

They’d taken it slow; Clarke had been reserved and even afraid of entering a relationship after Finn’s secrecy, destructiveness, and death. He’d left her with more than one emotional wound, but Lexa had understood.

Regardless, Clarke had been so enamored and comfortable with Lexa their relationship had escalated quickly. They dated throughout the semester and into the Spring, but things had fallen apart as fast as they’d come together about two months ago. Costia, Lexa’s old girlfriend who she thought she’d lost permanently, had transferred to Ark. Lexa had told Clarke of Costia, honest about how serious their relationship had been, but neither of them had expected the girl to be alive and well.

Clarke didn’t want to think about the horrible drama that ensued; being the “other woman” was something she’d relived more than once involuntarily. 

In the end, Lexa and Costia had rekindled their relationship while Lexa and Clarke resumed their friendship. When Clarke looked at her, she still felt the remnants of feelings for her but knew they were best left alone; she valued Lexa and wanted to keep her as a friend.

Her answer to Jasper had been true: Clarke and Lexa were on good terms as though nothing had changed. Clarke was even beginning to become friends with Costia.

“When’s Bellamy going to be here?” Wells asked, leaning against the counter beside the keg. Lincoln had set up plenty of red cups beside it.

When Wells and Bellamy had first met, they were the farthest from friends. According to Octavia, that’s how things usually went when people were introduced to Bellamy. Clarke had experienced it herself. However, over the years the two had grown to realize they’ve quite a lot in common. 

Theirs’ was a hard friendship to start, but one that was all the stronger for it. With Bellamy having graduated the University already, working as a historian in Pheonix’s famous museum and a part-time teacher at Walden High School, Wells didn’t see him as much as he used to. None of them, other than Octavia, saw him as much they used to.

Seeing was different than texting, however, and with that Clarke was in almost constant contact with him. 

When he’d still been at the University, he’d been a bartender at Tondc. Clarke had been a barback there until she’d turned twenty one and became a bartender. They’d worked many shifts together and eventually an unexpected friendship had formed. Clarke and Bellamy discovered they worked better together than imagined and generally agreed on things. If they disagreed, they at least understood the other and worked to find common ground.

She smiled as Octavia answered, “Bellamy wouldn’t miss a chance to torment Murphy with something worse than Jas’s gift wrap. He’ll be an hour late, but he’ll still be here-”

“You can stop crying now,” Raven announced as she burst into the apartment. She assumed her best metal-rock-out face and waved two large bottles of Bacardi overhead. “The fun friend is here!” 

“Fun friend?” Miller raised an eyebrow.

“That title is obviously reserved for me,” Monty commented as he slid an arm around Miller’s waist.

“Monty, you’re only fun when you’re busting into a Professor’s account to change grades or when you’re really drunk,” Wick commented from behind Raven. He closed the door with his foot. His arms were laden with paper bags stuffed full of chips, dips, other snacks, and two-liters of Coke to go with the Bacardi.

“Better than you, who is fun practically never,” Raven quipped with a barely contained smirk and a victorious saunter to the counter. She set the Bacardi down and looked at Wick, a challenging smile in her eyes.

Wick managed to point at himself while holding the bags, “I’m fun. You’re jealous, grease monkey.”

“There’s gunna be more food, right?” Jasper asked, poking around the bags as Wick set them beside the Bacardi. “Because as much as I’d love to try, I don’t think we can survive on alcohol." 

“Especially when Monty’s moonshine is thrown into the cocktail,” Maya whispered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her eyes were wide as though she’d experienced the adverse effects of Monty’s brew on an empty stomach before.

“Lexa and Costia are bringing a couple pizzas. Harper and Monroe are bringing more snacks. Bellamy is in charge of the cake and I think Clarke brought ice cream.” Lincoln ended his answer with a questioning look at her.

Clarke nodded, concentrating on tying a ribbon around one of Murphy’s presents. When it slipped, Lincoln offered a finger to help her tie it. 

As he stood there, Raven’s indescribable gift caught his attention. His face contorted into a perplexed mix of repulsion, confusion, and curiosity as to what exactly the gift was. Clarke didn’t even know what to call it.

“Raven, where the fuck did you get that? What the fuck is that?” Lincoln asked.

“Why?” Raven said around a mouthful of brownie. “You want one?”


	2. Like, Like Like With You

When Emori brought Murphy back to their apartment, there was hardly enough room for all of them to hide. They’d tried anyway despite the copious amounts of booze and food on the counter and table that gave them away.

Murphy had tried to hide his surprise when they shouted “Happy Birthday!” But the smirk he’d used to conceal his ecstatic happiness had only given away his joy.  


Of the many troubles they’d encountered and overcome the last year, conflicts and hard feeling surrounding Murphy had been some of them. He hadn’t deserved all the alienation and distrust the group had given him, but everyone had slowly been mending their friendships. Clarke saw their surprise party for him as a type of final apology to Murphy, if he would accept it.

He had. He’d demanded shots around the room first thing and wasn’t going to let the party start until everyone had taken theirs.  


Murphy had fallen into hysterics when he saw the crude gift wrap, but he didn’t open them until a few hours later after Bellamy arrived.

Clarke had been in an intense battle of Dance Central with Harper and Maya when she heard a loud knock at the door. The music had been blasting while Lexa, Murphy, Raven, and Wick were locked in a fight of beer pong. Costia and Monroe had been cheering them on, Monty and Miller had stolen away to a corner, and Wells, Jasper, Lincoln, and Octavia had been caught in a drinking game of dice. No one had made to answer the door. 

Clarke had waved Maya in to take over as she’d run to the door. 

Unlike the rest of their friends, Bellamy was the only one not rude enough to bust into the apartment and announce himself. He’d greeted Clarke with a scheming smile as he lifted a pink box of cake. He’d also carried a bag filled with a bottle of Jameson’s, Jack, and Vodka. 

With his arrival, they had quite the variety of booze, Clarke noticed.

Once the rest of the group realized Bellamy had arrived, he’d been greeted with a roar of cheers and just as many hugs. Bellamy had been about to shake hands with Murphy  
when Jasper dropped to the ground laughing, easily amused since he was already wasted.

Jasper had opened the pink cake box and left the lid open. Curious, everyone peered in and one by one they all nearly followed Jasper to the floor; Lexa and Monty actually did. 

When Clarke looked into the box, she saw an obscenely phallic shaped cake that could rival Jasper’s gift wrap.

Murphy rolled his eyes, unable to contain his laughter. He shook his head before bringing his palms to his eyes.

“I wanted to get a cake with your face on it, but all the bakery could do was this. I figured it was close enough.” Bellamy shrugged, smirking sideways at Murphy as he closed the box.

They’d shaken hands then. Bellamy had been the one to have the most tension with Murphy over the year. But, when he’d pulled the hand shake into a one-armed hug, Clarke felt certain and relieved all was well.

After that, Clarke could only describe their raging birthday party as drunken debauchery and shenanigans. Raven had been adamant about Murphy opening his gifts since Bellamy had arrived, but Murphy had insisted Bellamy at least get buzzed before he did.

Now, Clarke went to their wonderful array of liquor, both bought and home-brewed, to help fulfill Murphy’s wish. She mixed what she was certain the strongest drink consumed that night. She handed it to Bellamy with a smile.

He took it with a smirk, but it quickly fell when he nearly choked on the drink.

“Christ, Princess!” He coughed as hollers filled the room and Wells hit him in the back, as though it’d help. “What are they teaching you at Tondc now? Should I come back and show you how to actually mix a decent drink?”

“Only if it’s after hours,” Clarke leaned towards him across the counter. She took the cup back and drank smoothly, letting the concoction burn her throat. “I’ll accept private lessons on how to mix if you let me teach you how to hold your liquor.”

There were more hollers and Bellamy smirked, ignoring their loud friends as his eyes held hers. Clarke smiled back, her stomach feeling warm and her mind blissfully free from the stress of finals and conflicts.

She reached a hand to ruffle his hair. It was smoothed down and neat from his shift at the museum, but when Clarke had finished Bellamy’s curly hair was mused to her satisfaction.

“You through?” Bellamy asked, having waited patiently with a glowing smile for her to stop.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Clarke teased. Everything she was doing came so easily. She couldn’t decide if it was because of the alcohol or the anticipation that’d been warming her chest since Bellamy had been mentioned that afternoon. “It’s going to be a long night-”

“Hey, Clarke!” Jasper yelled from the beer pong table. “Didn’t you hear? The party was B.Y.O.B.: Bring Your Own Bae!”

“Bring Your Own Boyfriend!” Raven added, lifting a red cup and the last of the Seagram’s. They’d drunk most of them within the first half hour as Miller had predicted.

“Bring Your Own Bellamy!” Jasper picked up again. “Oh, wait! You did all three!”

As their cackles turned into drunk giggling, Bellamy reached for a brownie nearby and threw it at Jasper. Having trained with Monty for the food catching Olympic Games, Clarke was sure, Jasper caught the food in his mouth. More roaring cheers erupted as Lincoln poured him a victory shot of Vodka.

Bellamy returned his attention to Clarke. 

“I’m not drunk enough for that,” he said quietly so only Clarke could hear. He took the cup back and finished the drink with only a slight grimace.

She could understand how he felt. She and Bellamy were only friends, but ever since Octavia saw how much Clarke had been texting him they hadn’t been allowed any peace.  


Clarke had liked her quiet and discrete friendship with Bellamy and she was sure he had too. Now they’d just have to bare their tormentors’ jests.

As the party progressed, the night turned into morning and their booze supply dwindled. Clarke had lost track of how many drinks she’d had hours ago, but she didn’t care. She was celebrating.

When Murphy was satisfied Bellamy was drunk enough, he opened his gifts. Raven’s made the biggest impression. Clarke still didn’t know “where the fuck” she found it or “what the fuck” it was, as Lincoln had repeated so eloquently with Octavia leaning into his shoulder sleepily. 

Bellamy’s reaction to the ineffably obscene gift had been very similar, but he’d introduced some of the most colorful vocabulary of the night.

Sometime after their fourth round of beer pong (Clarke the undisputed victor), Raven noticed Murphy and Emori had disappeared along with the gift.

“Pay up, faithless Wick,” Raven pointed dramatically at him. There was a slight slur to her words and her hand was held out expectantly. “I told you they’d like it.”

“Damn mechanics,” Wick grumbled as he reluctantly slapped a bill into her hand.

Sometime around three, Monty and Miller had fallen asleep on the couch together; even though Monty and Wells were supposed to have battled in Dance Central. 

No one wanted to wake the couple, so the group continued their Dance tournament without them.

The semi-finals consisted of Maya, Wick, Lexa, and Clarke, but Lexa and Wick were the ones to dance it out in the finals. There was debate on whether Wick had teamed with Raven to make Lexa lose her balance or whether they were all too drunk to be coordinated for dancing. Regardless, Lexa won with cheers and a victory chug of Monty’s moonshine.

The cake, while off-putting in appearance, was delicious along with the rest of the food. Most of it was gone by four when Harper, Monroe, Maya, and Jasper fell asleep on the floor beside the couch.

Those left awake played poker and continued to drink, even though Clarke’s rationality warned the later hangover would be worse than the headache of finals. Wells had fallen asleep in his chair, revealing a winning hand when he slumped forward onto the table.

Lexa and Costia called a cab not long after to leave, though Lincoln and Octavia had offered them the spare room in their apartment down the hall. Clarke and Lexa hugged in goodbye when the cab pulled up. Clarke was sure she commented something cliché about how they needed to hang out more just before pulling Costia in for a hug, too.

Clarke didn’t want to think of how embarrassingly she played the stereotypical drunk girl. Although, she could proudly admit that she hadn’t made any ridiculous plans with Octavia or Raven to meet at the gym four days a week. She still couldn’t live down the last time she’d done that and flaked out when she sobered up.

She was a med student. The only time for a work out she had was running between her million classes, the library, cafeteria, and her dorm.

At about five, Lincoln and Octavia left and it was only Bellamy and Clarke left awake.

“Do you still have Jasper’s wrapping paper?” He asked; eyes bloodshot and his hair messier than Clarke had left it before. 

She could feel that she didn’t look much better and nodded. 

“How much is left?”

Instead of answering, she simply retrieved the roll of gift wrap and handed it to him. There was a decent amount.

“Great,” he whispered and stood from the table.

“What’re you doing?” Clarke called after him as he went to the couch where everyone was sleeping.

He turned around, trying to walk quietly, and held a finger to his lips for her to be quiet. Clarke watched as Bellamy proceeded to take everyone’s shoes from their feet or from where they lay tossed onto the floor.

He carried the remaining seven people’s pairs of shoes to the table and unrolled some of the gift wrap.

Clarke let out a loud laugh as she realized what he was doing.

“Shh, Princess,” Bellamy warned her, though he ended up laughing himself as he fell into his seat.

“You have a nice laugh,” Clarke commented, laying her head onto the table and suddenly feeling very sleepy. 

She thought her words had been obscured by the rustling of gift wrap, but apparently not. “So do you, Princess,” Bellamy replied.

Half an hour later, Bellamy had individually wrapped fourteen shoes and hid them throughout the apartment. He’d had difficulty with some of the taping; his coordination impaired. But, he’d managed the scissors without incident.

Only a small square of the obscene gift wrap was left. Clarke used it to leave a note: “Have fun, assholes!”

Bellamy tried not to laugh as Clarke stuck the note to the birthday sign over the window, but he was too wasted. Clarke shushed him.

“Let’s call you a cab, Bellamy,” Clarke said as she almost fell off a stool on her way to the ground. She’d realized through her own drunken state that he lived on the other side of Walden City.

“Nah, ‘s okay,” he visibly attempted to think clearly. “I’ll just stay over at O’s and Lincoln’s.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke yelled in a whisper, “It’s like almost six in the morning-”

“What?”

“Yeah!”

“I’ll just stay with you, then,” Bellamy whispered. He reached for her hand and pulled her out of Murphy’s apartment. The door locked behind them and Bellamy looked up and down the hall, “Which apartment is yours?”

Clarke giggled and led him to the stairwell, “It’s not on this floor.”

“Right, right,” he recalled.

It took them awhile to make their way upstairs. Clarke tripped at least twice and Bellamy caught her both times. She’d fallen into him and laughed. He was warm and his own laugh resonated in his strong chest.

Once they made it to her door, Clarke fumbled with her keys. She couldn’t focus because she couldn’t stop giggling. There wasn’t even a reason she was giggling. She just couldn’t think with Bellamy’s tall and sturdy shape beside her. His warm hands on her waist were pleasant and the main focus of her attention.

They made it inside and Bellamy was conscious enough to lock the door behind them. Clarke was heading towards the kitchen, conscious enough herself to realize their hangovers would be better if they at least attempted to hydrate themselves. Their hangovers would still be hell, but it made her feel better to know she tried.

“Princess, wait,” Bellamy said, catching her lightly by the hand. 

He’d only pulled her gently to him, but Clarke couldn’t keep her balance. She fell into him. She dropped her forehead to his chest in a fit of giggles.

“Princess, I wanna tell you something,” Bellamy tried to steady her, but he wasn’t steady himself.

Through her laughter, Clarke giggled out, “You call me Princess a lot. I don’t like being called Princess, but I like it coming from you-”

“Clarke,” Bellamy tried to get her attention. “Clarke, I wanna tell you something.”

Clarke gave one last hiccup of a giggle and looked at him. He was completely smashed, but he was attempting to be serious. She tried to be serious, too.

“Okay,” she said. “What do you wanna tell me?”

“Clarke,” he ran his hands up to her arms. His mahogany eyes met hers and he said, “I think I’m in like, like like with you-”

Clarke erupted into hysterical laughter before he could finish.

“What?” He tried to ask over her laughter. “What did I say? Clarke, I’m serious-”

“Are you an eight-year-old boy now, Bellamy?” Clarke choked out.

“Princes-”

“You’re a very drunk eight-year-old boy, then,” Clarke sobered enough to say before more giggles came.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel something,” Bellamy leveled with her.

Clarke’s giggling ceased and she stared at him. She couldn’t tell him that and still speak the truth.

“You do, don’t you?” He asked, somehow managing to step closer to her.

Clarke had to tilt her head up to still look him in the eyes, “Yeah…”

“Then why’re you laughing?”

“Because you’re drunk as hell,” Clarke answered. “And I’m drunk as hell. We should just have some water and pass out-”

“I’m not tired, Clarke.” Bellamy interrupted her. He continued in a low, suggestive voice, “Are you?”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat as his lips brushed hers. The spark she felt when they touched caused her to sober more quickly than anything could.

She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away, “Don’t be a fuckboy, Bellamy.”

He looked at her confused for a moment, but dropped his hands respectfully. Realization dawned over his face quickly and he jumped with an apology.

“I’m sorry, Clarke-”

She dropped her hand and shook her head with a smile. “It’s okay, Bellamy. I just want to be sober enough to remember when you kiss me for the first time. I’d like for you to remember it, too.”

“Oh,” he managed, staring at her. It took a moment for his intoxicated mind to comprehend. Once he did, he smiled at her adoringly. “Maybe water and sleep, then?”

“Water and sleep, then,” Clarke agreed with a smile of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy went from drunk eight-year-old boy to fuckboy to respectable gentlemen really fast. I hope you enjoyed!  
> I decided to add one more chapter because who doesn't want to read the morning after that rager?
> 
> Bellamy's confession is based off of this post:  
> http://truealphabellamy.tumblr.com/post/117201451762/aladdinvevo-i-think-im-in-like-like-with-you  
> (I'd post the link to the original poster's post but my internet is being crap right now and this is the quickest one I could find. Sorry!)
> 
> Also, Jasper and Raven's B.Y.O.B. Puns credit goes to johnmurphyne.tumblr.com!


	3. Different type of B.Y.O.B.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke finally wake up to count the damage, and then count the kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale it took me two years to finally come around to writing <3  
> So sorry I never finished this, but I just needed a break from the fandom (apparently a two year long break). I finished season 4, and if there are a few references in here I'm not even the slightest bit ashamed.

Clarke thought it was the pounding of a hangover headache that woke her up until the actual moment that she _did_ wake up. The pulsing sound hadn’t been her blood beating in her head, complaining about how much she’d drank that night—that morning, really—but instead the pulsing of a phone on vibrate, rattling off her nightstand. Eyesight a blur and her bed too warm to move more than a single, flailing arm, Clarke reached for her phone.

It wasn’t buzzing.

Clarke sighed and tucked her arm back into her blanket, rolling over to shove her face back into her pillow. Except, her blanket felt too heavy and strange to be an actual blanket. Except, her pillow didn’t feel quite like a pillow, and she was quite certain it had a heartbeat.

Clarke blinked and found herself staring at the worn navy-blue cotton of a t-shirt. She wiggled into her bed and found it was an arm draped over her and a chest she’d tucked herself against. The body beside her was breathing, steady and sleeping. But that phone was still erratically buzzing, making it impossible for the lull of warmth and touch to pull her back asleep.

If Clarke felt the smallest bit guilty about waiting to nudge Bellamy awake, she didn’t really care.

“Bellamy,” she said, shaking his shoulder and tilting her head up to watch his face. “Bell, wake up.”

He hummed a sound more like a stubborn sleeping groan and tightened his arm around her waist. Clarke ducked her head back into his neck and breathed to stop herself from shaking with giddy laughter; not the type of laughter you felt from something funny, but the type you felt from something happy. Underneath the scent of stale sweat and alcohol that Clarke was certain stuck to her skin, too, she smelled a muskiness that was only him and that she’d only breathed in on the few times they’d hugged. 

It smelled like stubbornness and passion, safety and friendship, which was to say it simply smelled like Bellamy Blake. 

Clarke dipped her forehead against his chest and smiled to herself. She nudged him again.

“Bellamy,” she said a little louder, a little firmer.

“Clarke,” he said in the same tone, eyes still closed.

“Wake up, Bellamy.”

“No way, Clarke.”

His phone buzzed again.

Clarke considered letting him sleep, even though she knew it was afternoon sunlight her curtains were blocking out. She considered reaching over him to turn his phone off, then returning to sleep herself. It was a tempting thought. The school year was over. Finals were over. Their friends were okay, and all the awful things they’d been through were just a painful memory. No one needed saving, whether it be from near-failing grades or near-failing mental health. No one really needed them right now, despite the irregular yet continual buzzing of Bellamy’s phone.

The real reason it was so tempting, however, wasn’t because of anything outside her room—outside her bed, really. On the occasions their group had held study sessions or movie nights or parties that had gone on so late they’d become early and everyone fell asleep, Clarke had never known Bellamy to be a heavy sleeper. The slightest noise, a snore from Wick or Jasper or the rustling of Monty or Raven waking up before everyone else, would always wake Clarke. She’d always find Bellamy awake, too.

Now, however, Bellamy was resting, and so was she.

Damn the noise and anything outside their blanket of warmth.

Clarke lifted herself onto her elbow, her body stiff and head pounding with the movement. Bellamy’s arm fell to her hip as he rolled onto his back, sighing deeply and peacefully. That was, until Clarke tried crawling over him to reach his phone resting on the other nightstand.

“ _Clarke_!” Bellamy said, breathless as she crushed him. She sprawled across him, her belly laying sideways on his as she grabbed the noisy phone. “Clarke, I can’t—what are you doing?”

Phone in hand, Clarke slid back down until it was just her arms draped over him. She was still laying sideways, and she could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. She blinked until she could see clearly enough to find the button to power down his phone, but her fingers were clumsy with sleep and a hangover and she almost dropped it instead.

“Clarke,” Bellamy said again, sounding more awake than she felt, “what are—”

“Your phone won’t shut up,” she mumbled against his stomach. “I’m turning it off so we can go back to sleep.”

“Hang on, one of those could be from O.” Bellamy reached for her hands, brushing her fingers as he took the phone from her. Clarke dropped her arms and her head in favor of resting both against his belly, listening to his breathing. She looked up at him, but the phone blocked his face from her view. As he scanned through the messages, he asked, “You still drunk, Princess?”

“You’re still drunk,” she retorted.

She felt his smiling laugh more than she saw it. “It’s one in the afternoon. We might both still be drunk.” Bellamy paused, dropping the phone to look down at her. “You gonna get off me?”

Clarke shook her head. “Anything from Octavia?”

“No, just a lot of angry messages from Jasper and Murphy…” Bellamy squinted back at his phone then glanced at her. “Do you remember me wrapping up everyone’s shoes and hiding them?”

Clarke was laughing before she could answer. Vaguely, she remembered sitting at Murphy and Emori’s table and watching him work on his prank while she dozed. Then, she cast her memory further against the pulsing in her head to recall her and Bellamy stumbling up the stairs to her room.

“Miller and Wick counted the damage from last night,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest and against Clarke’s ear.

She groaned. “Tell me. It has to be a record.”

Bellamy grinned, then listed off all the booze they’d drank last night. “Almost a whole keg of beer, three six packs of Seagrams vaporized by you and Raven, everything but a fifth of the two bottles of Bacardi, most of Monty’s moonshine, Lincoln’s Vodka, and the entirety of Jasper’s 30 pack.”

“As a med student, I shouldn’t condone such liver abuse.”

“You’re off duty,” Bellamy said, absently reaching down to card his fingers through her hair. “It’s okay. Raven sent me something else…”  
Bellamy trailed off, turning his phone to the side to see a picture. He brought the phone closer to his face as a wrinkle creased between his eyebrows and made Clarke’s insides flutter. Then, Bellamy pulled the phone away shouting some disgusted, “ _Jesus Christ_ , Reyes.”

“What?” Clarke asked as Bellamy just kept shaking his head. “What, Bell?”

Bellamy pulled his phone out of reach as Clarke fell further over his chest to get it, simultaneously laughing as he said, “It’s for your own good, Clarke. You don’t want to see—”

“Yes, I _do_ , and who’re you to decide what’s good for me?” Clarke said, her words spaced out with the struggle of her reaching for his phone. When she finally got it, she triumphed with an “ _Aha!_ ”

Bellamy stopped fighting her in favor of pressing the meat of his palms into his eyes. Clarke stared at the photo Raven sent, turning her head this way and that to make out what it was. She squinted, much like Bellamy had, until her eyes shot open and she screamed an “ _Oh my god!_ ”

“I told you.”

“ _Ew!_ ”

“I _told_ you, Griffin.”

“Why is it in the _hallway_ , Bellamy?’

“I have no idea.”

“We _stepped_ over that!”

“We may have stepped _on_ it.”

“I didn’t know what Raven’s gift was in the first place,” Clarke said, slowly handing Bellamy his phone back, her hands shaking with uncontrollable laughter that was probably more shock than anything. “I didn’t know that’s how it was _used_.”

“I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that,” Bellamy agreed, promptly shutting his phone off as a new message from Raven chimed in with harmless emojis used in obscene ways, crowning herself queen of awesome birthday gifts.

Clarke fell back against her pillow, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. “I think it’s burned into my retina’s, Bellamy.”

“You know,” he started, turning his head to talk to her even though he continued staring at the ceiling, too, “I think Raven made that herself, because no sex shop would have that.”

“I hope not, otherwise our friends are way kinkier than we thought.” Clarke reached for her own phone, curious what their friends had sent her now that she and Bellamy were regrettably awake.

As she waited for it to turn on, Clarke dropped it between the two of them and turned to face him. He was watching her, brown eyes still soft and relaxed, and she wadded up some of the blanket in her hand.

“Do you…” Clarke trailed off, her heart thumping. She plowed ahead anyway, encouraging herself with the truth that she and Bellamy didn’t hide the important things from each other. Not anymore. “Do you remember what you did last night?”

Bellamy passed a hand over his face to scrub away his sleep. “Apparently I stole everyone’s shoes,” he said with a deep sigh, looking at her with a crooked grin as he rolled onto his side to face her again, too. “I don’t remember where I hid them, though. Sucks for them.”

Despite the fluttering in her stomach campaigning against her hangover for the greatest drain on concentration, Clarke laughed. She covered her face with a pillow until she calmed down, looking at Bellamy with what she knew was a flush.

“That’s not what I meant, Bellamy. I mean: do you remember what you said?”

“I remember what _you_ said, Princess, and I’d like both of us to forget—what did you call it?—my eight-year-old confession.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clarke said in a tone that let him know she would never actually forget. “And what did I say?”

Bellamy ducked his head and smiled through a laugh, and Clarke was struck with a bone-deep wealth of _missing_. She’d missed him, more than she’d realized, over the past year since he’d graduated and took his historian job. Their constant texting was really just a band-aid over a wound that needed stitches—messages into a void of silence that she wasn’t sure if he’d receive and messages she got back like dozens of tiny band-aids.

No one knew better than Clarke how many stitches missing someone needed.

Bellamy brushed pieces of her hair out of her face, his fingers leaving whispers of warmth against her skin. He said, “Well, first you called me a fuckboy. Original, by the way—”

“I was drunk—”

“ _We_ were drunk, and you made a good point. Then, you said…” Bellamy trailed off swallowing hard. Clarke grabbed the hand he’d threaded through her hair and squeezed. He smiled and added, “You said you wanted to be sober enough for us to remember when we kiss for the first time.”

“I think I remember saying something like that.” Clarke sidled closer to him and deeper into her bed while his arm fell back over her waist. Truthfully, she remembered saying all of it.

“We stopped drinking,” Bellamy paused, looking up as he did the math, “at least seven hours ago. We sober enough now, Princess?”

“You can figure it out.”

“I got you for that.”

Clarke had her next retort on her tongue, but it never made it passed her lips. It wasn’t because Bellamy kissed her before she could speak. It was because he looked at her, and brushed back that stubborn piece of hair that kept falling forward, and she couldn’t speak. It was because they were in the same place of the same peace, and they were looking at each not to convey urgent silent messages or to get each other’s attention for something crucial or to commiserate, but simply to look at each other for no better reason than they wanted to.

Bellamy cupped her cheek, and Clarke leaned forward to kiss him. Drunk or not, she thought she’d always remember their first kiss, but she appreciated the clarity of her senses now that she was mostly sober. She would remember the feel of his lips under her lips, and the taste of his mouth on her mouth. She would remember the contented sigh he breathed as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back onto his chest just because they could. She would never forget the smile that reached his eyes, and the smile that stitched instead of bandaged.

Clarke’s phone buzzed in between them, and they smiled against each other’s laughing kisses. It kept buzzing…and buzzing—buzzing with all the messages finally coming in now that her phone had turned on. She put a hand to Bellamy’s chest, rolling onto her back so she could check the damage her friends had sent her. Clarke cocked her head to the side to see a specific message.

“What is it, Princess?” Bellamy asked, turning on his side so he could lay an arm over her.

Clarke paused, her tongue ready for an answer, when suddenly she threw her phone down the bed shouting, “Raven sent it to me, too, _ohmygod!_ ”

Bellamy fell onto her, laughing into her neck as his body shook her body. Clarke stuck her tongue out like the picture left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Let’s say we forget the phones and Raven’s obscene gift and go do breakfast,” Bellamy proposed, lifting his head when their disturbed laughter fell away. “Something good for hangovers.”

“Good thing you were sober enough last night not to wrap our shoes.”

“Good thing,” he agreed, placing another soft kiss to her lips. 

Clarke had her fingers in the curls of his hair, but she pulled back, narrowing her brow as she asked, “Will breakfast be a B.Y.O.B.?”

Bellamy groaned and ducked his head into her chest. His voice was muffled as he said, “You can’t be serious? No more booze, please.”

Clarke used her conveniently placed hands to pull his head up and look into his smiling brown eyes. “Different type of B.Y.O.B., Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the tone and style changed from Chapter 2 to 3, that's the time passing with my writing changing. Hope it isn't too unsettling for anyone to stop reading!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the conclusion to B.Y.O.B. Feedback and comments are always welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> A scene setting chapter but I hope the comedy was entertaining!  
> Next chapter should be up soon :)  
> I'm truealphabellamy.tumblr.com!  
> Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback are wonderful and always welcome!  
> Have a great day, sunshine!


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